


Hard Times

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - World War II, Gen, War, Winter, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-30 01:25:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5145149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>look another unfinished piece of shit!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hard Times

It was May 1, 1945. Germany exhaled as his fist collided with a Soviet soldier’s jaw. His ice blue eyes scanned the snow white battlefield, which was speckled with blood; his soldiers’ blood. Blue made contact with violet as he rolled to the side, the snow where he just was exploding as the Russian’s bullet hit it. He looked up again, gasping as he saw the tall, violet-eyed Russian galloping towards him. Backing up quickly, Germany yelped as he rolled to the side, the snow next to him exploding yet again. Russia smirked and tucked his gun into his waistband, walking up to the German, who looked almost worse than he did. His uniform looked a little big around his once-muscular-now-thin figure. Around his thigh was a very bloody bandage, the blood a dark, maroon colour, and Ivan guessed that the wound was old. Staying in his face-down position, Germany closed his eyes, inhaling and gripping the Luger in his hand. He hated the Russian so much. Rolling over, the German’s gun met the Russian’s jawline, Russia’s own gun meeting the German chest. Both men were panting from the previous action and battle, sweat shining their faces and threatening to freeze.

They stared at each other, their fingers hovering above the triggers of their guns. Chests heaved, bodies ached, and mind ran of nothing. They were the same, both Nations suffering; the soldiers dying on each side causing the human Nation incredible pain. There were open wounds, some that would heal quickly, and some that would take a while to heal because of the losses of their people. Russia flinched as the German before him shifted, a dark brown, leather-gloved hand reaching up and clutching an Iron Cross on a thin, silver chain around his neck. Ice blue eyes met violet eyes. They were not focused. Instead of looking down at the German held at gunpoint, the once-vibrant-and-terrorising eyes were pale and weak, and their focus point was on nothing. Ivan looked like a walking corpse. Aside from his usual paleness, his eyes were ringed with dark, purplish rings, his face being sunken and skeleton-like. Ludwig’s eyes caught a spot in his hair where the beige was reddish. _Most likely a spot where he got bashed in the head_. Thought the German. He so desperately wanted to kill the man before him, but he could not gather the strength to. He deserved be shot. He was the one who got himself into this mess in the first place. A shot startled him. Pulling from his thoughts, he looked up. The Russian joined him on the ground as he looked around, confused.

With his gun raised and slightly smoking due to the crisp, chilly air, Ludwig’s older brother Gilbert stood. He had anger painted on his face.

“Bruder, are you alright?” The albino asked, smoothing the front of his uniform’s jacket.

“Ja.” Ludwig replied simply. He looked down at the Russian, who was clutching his bleeding thigh. Prussia had hit him in a spot that was vital for physical combat.

“Fucking Ruski,” snarled Gilbert in their native German tongue, “Could have shot my brother. So un-awesome.”

“Did you forget,” the Russian snarled back, “That I can understand everything you are saying?” His German was choppy, extracting a snicker from the Prussian. Gilbert hoisted his brother to his feet, the two Germans turning and retreating to their army’s base. The snow was making the bleeding wound on the Russian’s thigh ache. He attempted to get to his feet, letting out a loud growl of frustration as his leg gave out. He fell forwards onto his stomach, the sensation of ice cold snow hitting a soft, warm cheek causing a burning sensation to shoot through the skin. Ivan hissed at the uncomfortable burning feel he felt, but he couldn’t muster any strength to move. “General Braginski!” Someone shouter, running footsteps resounding in the bleeding man’s skull. His colonel and a few other soldiers, most likely a patrol he had issued before he set out, sad his form laying on the ground. He stayed quiet as he was rolled over, pain shooting through his leg when the weight was relieved from the bullet wound. He had let Germany and his pathetic brother get away. Ivan, the Terrible had failed at completing the mission his boss has given. Hissing in pain, Ivan refused to look up to see who was bothering him and what was going on. A private was repeatedly telling him to open his mouth. He refused quite childishly. Something wet touched his lips, the liquid burning the cracked and dry skin. Vodka. Opening his eyes, the boy smiled. “Are you going to cooperate now?” the Colonel smirked. Ivan smirked also, propping himself up a bit on his elbows. “I am not a child, Toris.” the General said, now in his native tongue. “You sure act like one.” Toris muttered to himself. Ivan sent him a glare, the glare turning into a wince as the Lithuanian colonel poured an alcohol substance on the bullet wound. A flask was thrust into the Russian’s hands, Toris packing snow onto the wound to numb the irritated and inflamed area. Ivan looked up at Toris, giving him an approving nod; the bullet needed to come out immediately, or else Ivan could, and would, contract lead poisoning from the lead ball embedded deep in the muscles of his thigh. The Russian General smiled as his Lithuanian removed the most sterile surgical tools from his rucksack. He looked expectantly at Ivan. Ivan got the point and opened the flask, tilting his head back and taking a long swig of the burning alcohol. He was going to make it last until the end so he wasn’t totally smashed and ended up with the alcohol wearing off before the surgery was over. Toris cut Ivan’s pants a bit more open, frowning at the damage, The veins were scrambled, the muscles visible when Ivan moved and flexed his leg, which Toris thought he was doing on purpose to gross him out. When the colonel took a glance up at Ivan, he cowered a little when he found that Ivan was glaring at him. The look held so many emotions, and Toris couldn’t pick out the main one. Ivan was so hard to read sometimes, and it was so hard not to get frustrated with it.

“Comrade Colonel,” the General’s voice shook, “Please continue with the operation.” Toris nodded. When the word ‘please’ came from Ivan, it meant that you obey and do whatever he wanted. The Lithuanian cut into the painfully red skin, this action withdrawing a sharp intake of breath, Ivan had endured worse injuries, and Lithuania had no idea why he was being such a baby about it this time.

“Ivan, drink the vodka.” one of the lieutenants said.

“Njet.”

“Da.” There was a sound of struggle, and when Toris looked up again, he had to force himself to hold back a giggle. Ivan had his arms being forced behind his back, another soldier holding his head back by the General’s jaw. Ivan sighed in pain, His sides heaved from the sudden burst of energy. Toris felt bad, but it was nice to see the towering male in such a vulnerable state. The Russian General opened his mouth reluctantly, vodka being poured down his throat. He made a gargled choking noise as he struggled to swallow, the alcohol burning his airway once he did. Toris worked quickly, extracting the bullet with frozen fingers that couldn't quite get a grip on the steel tweezers in his hands.


End file.
